Criminal
by White Fedora
Summary: Arthur Kirkland has been the head field agent of the DC-National Criminal Investigative Service for years. His team is scattered and strange, but when a stream of murders and disappearances starts up, he has to make ties with his team's alter ego, the C-NCIS in Sacramento, California. Despite their differences, they have to work together to solve the case - before it's too late.


**Had this idea a few weeks ago, so here we go! Based on the show NCIS, with some Hetalia and 2Ps thrown in.**

**I'll give out all the names of the 2Ps in the next chapter, so just hang tight. I hope I can actually stay focused on this.**

**I don't own NCIS or Hetalia, or the 2Ps.**

* * *

The man with messy blonde hair shut the car door firmly with one hand, his other resting confidently he steering wheel. He met his own bright green gaze in the rear-view mirror and paused to adjust it, watching as his back window came into a better view. Once finished, he settled back with a sigh, enjoying the peace and quiet of his car until he finally buckled up, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

He passed quietly underneath an orange streetlight, his speed still blissfully low in the empty street. The gold badge on his chest gleamed proudly in the glow, reflecting the engraved words: NCIS – National Criminal Investigative Service. He was a part of the DC division of the nationwide police-like force.

As the car picked up speed, he started replaying the events of the day in his mind. His team had been investigating the homicide of the owner of a small café. To him, the target seemed random at best, but the case would be continued tomorrow.

Until then, however, the man simply pressed down on the gas pedal and continued home. The streets of DC were quiet and empty. After all, it _was _well after midnight. He sighed; he _really _had to stop working so late…

His cellphone light came on and the thing buzzed loudly, announcing that he had a call. He picked it up at a red light and checked the Caller ID, and the name "Gilbert Beilschmidt" winked clearly at him. He flicked it on and held the device up to his ear, asking, "What do you want, Gilbert?"

"ARTIE! We got a problem!" the loud, heavily-accented voice blasted through the phone. Arthur flinched and held the phone a little ways from his ear, listening as Gilbert continued.

"The computer can't find a match for the print we found at the crime scene! It's definitely the killer's but no match!" the Prussian on the other end exclaimed.

"What?!" Arthur asked, braking hard in his surprise. He felt the car jerk forward at the sudden stop, but there was still no one around. "But there's no way…"

"There is, Artie." Gilbert said seriously, "Some people come into the country without giving up all their information and some are born without anyone knowing. Anything could've happened."

"Hm…well, I suppose just run it again. There has to be something _somewhere _we can use." Arthur said wearily.

"Will do. I'll make it go on an overnight search. West and I are going home, but we will find that match! I'm too awesome not to! Kesesese!" Gilbert answered, finishing off with his bizarre hissing laugh. The call ended and Arthur sighed, focusing on driving. Well that was strange. They usually always found print matches.

"No use in worrying about it too much. Gilbert, Kiku, and Wang are a very dependable Forensics team…"

He tapped the steering wheel nervously as he turned into his driveway.

"Dependable…Forensics team…"

* * *

On the other side of the country, stream of phone calls was assaulting the California Police Force. All of the calls were more or less about the same thing.

"Sir, we've got another query…"

"Another dead end, sir!"

"Wilkes and Stone, two more cases, sir!"

"What do we do?"

The target of these many questions, the sheriff, pulled away from the tide of deskworkers with a stressed sigh. This past week, all efforts had been shifted to solve a string of kidnappings that had been occurring all up and down the west coast. So far, they hadn't found any leads or solutions yet. No bodies, either. The head of the police force, named Michael Flanagan, was stretched to his limit and not sure what to do.

The fact that there was a panicked report going out on TV and a horde of reporters crowding at the door didn't help matters. Flanagan gripped his hair tightly, looking ready to rip it out by the roots.

He retreated to his office, shutting the door tight and turning around with a distressed sigh. There was someone at his desk, playing with his stapler, and Michael sighed vehemently.

"White…what are _you _doing here?" he asked, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

The dark man at his desk put the stapler down and turned around, his strange red eyes smirking at the stressed sheriff.

"Your boss called, sheriff. I hear you're in a bit of trouble?" he asked.

"I can handle it." Michael snapped, scrambling to defend his pride.

"That's not what the mayor said." Luke White countered.

"I…" Michael stopped. If his boss had called the man here, he wasn't in any position to object.

"It's these disappearances lately, White," he admitted, "my men can't keep up."

"Heh. Figures." White scoffed, "The C-NCIS is on it."

* * *

Luke pushed open the door of the NCIS building about fifteen minutes later. His field agents, or at least the ones still here, looked up. One of them rested his hands on his desk, eying Luke curiously.

"'Sup Luke?" Agent Jason Daniels asked.

"We're on the disappearance cases. The sheriff admitted he couldn't take the heat—" Luke paused for a minute to smirk gloatingly, "—and gave me this."

He threw a small plastic bag at Jason's face, watching as the other agent caught it, grunted in an annoyed way, and studied it.

"Little bit of evidence they found." Luke explained, "Send it down to Anton and Oliver for testing, 'kay? We need some dependable forensics to give to the Director."

"Dependable forensics?" Jason asked, "I thought you wanted this to go to Oliver?"

The two roared with laughter and Jason dropped the bag on an empty desk.

"Let Probie handle it," he snickered.

"Whatever." Luke said dismissively, "Just get me the results by tomorrow. Capiche?"

"Whatever." Jason sneered, mimicking Luke.

Luke scoffed at him and slung his bag over his shoulder, heading for the door.

"Going home. Bye." He said over his shoulder.

Jason didn't answer but sighed, going back to his desk to pack.


End file.
